


Basketcase

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-13
Updated: 2007-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:17:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to 4x03: Reunion, in which John and Rodney have a much needed conversation to clear the air.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Basketcase

"You!" Rodney snapped, barging into John's quarters without so much as a by-your-leave. "You . . . you!"

John glanced up from his perch at the end of his bed, quelling the sharp burn of bitterness that flared in his stomach at the sound of Rodney's voice. Methodically, deliberately, he pulled off his boot and set it to one side. "Yeah," he said, trying to sound bored, fingers tugging at his other laces. "Still me."

"That is _so_ not what I – what you – I – " Rodney growled in exasperation and gestured with one expressive hand. "You took my fruit basket!"

John quirked an eyebrow, packing the gesture with every ounce of punitive insolence he had. "You gave your fruit basket _away_ ," he pointed out.

"Because you told me it was lame!"

John reached to pull off his other boot and stripped off his socks. "Yeah, well." He took a weird, satisfied pleasure in how petulant he sounded. "It was."

Rodney folded his arms. "Care to explain how it was lame for me but not for _you_?"

John shrugged while he gave some consideration to just how passive aggressive he felt like being. A lot, he decided, and stood, stretching a little, rolling his shoulders. "'Cause."

Rodney narrowed his eyes.

John let his body go loose, the slouch of his shoulders a deliberate contrast to Rodney's tight, unhappy stance. "Look – I just . . . decided that – "

"She said she thought it was thoughtful! You scored thoughtful points off _my_ thoughtfulness!"

"Huh." John smirked. "Cool."

"Not cool!" Rodney yelled, pointing a finger at John's chest. "Not cool at all. It's . . . it's . . . ." He spluttered to a stop, looking suddenly crestfallen. " _Mean_ ," he finished.

"Aw, c'mon," John sighed. "It wasn't mean, it was – "

"It was _mean_ ," Rodney said unhappily.

John rolled his eyes. "Sorry?"

Rodney sniffed and didn't look one ounce happier. "Well. I – apology accepted." He stuck his hands in his pockets and with one last unhappy glance in John's direction turned toward the door.

"Hey – " John followed, puzzled. "What're you – "

"Going to bed," Rodney said glumly.

John frowned. "I said I was sorry."

"I _know_." Rodney let out a long breath. "I just – "

Which was when something strange and panicked began scratching inside John's chest – it was entirely possible he'd overblown his cool. He ground his teeth, trying to keep all his word locked tight, but – "I was jealous, okay?" he blurted, and jammed his hands in his pockets.

There was a long, fragile moment of silence as Rodney blinked at him. "Jealous? Of _fruit_?"

John scowled. "Goddamit, no, not the fucking fruit." He reached for his shirt buttons, unfastening them just for something to do as he paced the length of his room. "Of the fact that you wanted to give the fucking fruit to Sam fucking _Carter_. Jesus."

Rodney was staring at him as if he'd grown a second head. "You were jealous of me giving - _what_?"

John shrugged out of his shirt, threw it toward the laundry pile in the corner. "You've always had that – " He gestured, grimacing. "Thing for her."

Rodney stared at him with even more incredulity. "You – you think I . . . oh my _god_ , you are officially . . ."

John glanced at him. "Don't say it – "

"Whatever. You are stupid. You are so stupid it's a wonder _I'm_ not becoming stupid by sharing your air. You are so stupid you make me long for _Kavanagh_ so that I've someone intelligent to talk to."

John looked up sharply. " _Hey_."

Rodney shook his head. "Why the hell do you think I would – I would - _Sam_? When I have _this_?"

John ducked his head and shuffled his feet. "Well. I don't know. I mean. She's hot."

Rodney made a strangled noise and crossed the room, grabbed John's upper arms and shook him just a little. "You are getting _stupider_ ," he said. " _Stop that_." And he kissed him. Hard.

The kiss took John by surprise – he was expecting a few more insults, or even for Rodney to pull his hair (it'd happened before), and he was half prepared to move fast enough to avoid a knee to the balls. But the kiss – _god_ – this wasn't the way they usually kissed, this was rough, this was possessive, this was Rodney taking no prisoners and honest to god plundering his mouth and wow. Wow. He _liked_ it.

By the time they broke apart they were sprawled across his bed, Rodney's jacket somewhere near the bathroom door, John's belt still swinging crazily from the back of a chair. Rodney lifted his head, body an unremitting pressure against every inch of John's, pressing him down into the mattress, holding onto his wrists . "Just – no," he managed, looking a little angry, a little hurt, a lot turned on, ridiculously fond. " _No_. Do you get that?"

And John tried not to meet his gaze but it was all but impossible. "Suppose," he said, flexing his fingers.

Rodney let out a breath and his expression softened. "I would never – I would _never_ . . . " and he bent his head, kissed John gently, let go of his hold on John's wrists, sighed softly when John's arms slipped around him, when John cupped the back of his skull in one hand.

"Good," John whispered, kissing his jaw, his temple, his cheek. "Sorry," he murmured, meaning it this time. And he inched his fingers beneath the rumpled hem of Rodney's t-shirt, scratched his nails across the small of Rodney's back, felt him shudder and gasp just a little, and figured maybe he'd let Carter know who the fruit basket was from in the beginning after all.

Or. You know. Maybe not.


End file.
